Lash-Up

7 Genesis

Trevor West stood outside Whitehall while morning traffic crept past him. His overcoat and umbrella provided some protection against the typically rainy London weather, but the brisk wind fought his words. He spoke loudly and held the microphone close.

“After an emergency meeting of Parliament this morning, in which the prime minister spoke at length on China’s intentional disabling of the American GPS constellation, Her Majesty’s government has issued a stern condemnation of the Chinese attacks and has demanded that they cease immediately. The official démarche, presented to the Chinese ambassador approximately half an hour ago, protests not only the attacks themselves but also the militarization of space.

“The Chinese ambassador received the diplomatic note without comment. The American ambassador was provided with a copy of the démarche and welcomed the British support, stating that the United States was doing everything in its power to defend its interests and property.

“Ministry of Defense sources are unsure what the Americans plan to do about the Chinese attacks. MoD officials believe a direct attack on the launcher in southern China would be quite difficult given the Chinese air defenses and how deeply buried the gun is in the mountainside. And, of course, the GPS satellites themselves are entirely defenseless.

“One source speculated that the Americans may try to threaten Chinese interests elsewhere in Asia, pressuring them into stopping their attacks. They say they’ve even seen some signs that this may already be occurring. Of course, military pressure risks widening the conflict — including open hostilities between the United States and China.

“MoD officials refused to speculate what Her Majesty’s government’s position would be in such a situation.”

Biff Barnes leaned back in the large leather chair and rubbed his eyes. He tried again to focus on the plans for Defender’s fly-by-wire system — no luck. All the lines, numbers, and letters had become fuzzy. Standing, he stretched and suppressed a large yawn. It had been a long night. He and a dozen other officers had spent it in the posh executive conference room, laboring nonstop to transform the Defender design concept into a proper air force acquisition program. The large flat-screen displays at the end of the conference table showed the overall Defender design side by side with the standard DoD chart showing a program’s plan of action and milestones. Blueprints, data printouts, and tablet PCs covered the table, mixed with an army’s worth of empty Styrofoam coffee cups, Chinese takeout boxes from the night before, and doughnut boxes from that morning.

The past forty-eight hours had compressed into an indistinguishable blur. First, the mad rush to meet with the chief of staff, and then essentially being drafted to be the air force’s lead on the Defender program. The run-up to the JCS meeting that followed was just as fast-paced, with Barnes preparing and then presenting a logical argument for why Defender was not only plausible but was their best chance to level the playing field with the Chinese. And, oh, why the air force should own Defender. But the navy had effectively upstaged the air force and him with Ray McConnell. Like any fighter pilot, Biff didn’t take being outmaneuvered well. It was also his first real run-in with honest-to-God interservice rivalry.

Of course, Biff was well aware of the competition between the various services. No one who served in Washington, D.C., could miss it, but he hadn’t been a participant in a bare knuckles fight at the general-officer level before. Barnes considered himself a damn fine pilot, but he had no delusions about his place in the grand scheme of things. He was just another minor cog in a much greater machine.

And yet he suddenly found himself dragged into the “stratosphere,” the highest levels of the U.S. Air Force, tasked to do new and challenging things. Things that had never been done before, and those things would change the very nature of the air force. Biff found it all very exciting, and at the same time somewhat unsettling. The risks were considerable, but then so, too, were the potential rewards. The fighter pilot in him eagerly embraced the challenge. But in a dark corner of his mind, a small voice asked if this was going to help or hurt his chances of making major.

When the air force contingent had left the JCS meeting eighteen hours earlier, General Ames had come up to Barnes and said, “You did a good job on your presentation, Clarence.”

Barnes, already in a foul mood, interrupted. “Please, sir, just ‘Biff.’” Why was the general getting on a first-name basis?

Ames smiled. “Fine then, Biff. Who knew the navy would back Defender as well? I certainly didn’t expect they’d bring in McConnell himself to argue their case. All things considered, you did very well.”

“Thank you, sir.” Biff was unsure where this was going, but the hairs on the back of his neck were starting to tingle. His instincts told him to check his six o’clock.

“I need someone to put that presentation together, Biff. I’ll give you as many of the staff as you need, and you can set up in my conference room. We’ve got until zero eight hundred tomorrow to come up with a strong argument that will sell General Kastner on the air force owning Defender.”

“Maybe you should get a lawyer,” Biff suggested. He was half-serious.

“No, I want a pilot, and you’re the only one in sight who’s also been an astronaut.”

“General, with all due respect, sir, I’m just a captain. I’m not even senior enough to make coffee in this building. Won’t my lack of seniority be a significant disadvantage?”

Ames chuckled. “Normally, Biff, I’d agree with you. But right now, under these circumstances, the chief of staff is more interested in your expertise than your rank. As far as he’s concerned, you’re the right man for the job. Everybody else’s opinion is irrelevant. And if more ‘senior’ officers have to work for you to bring this task to a successful conclusion, well, they’ll just have to get over it.”

By now they’d reached Ames’s office, but Biff didn’t respond immediately. Finally, the general asked him flatly, “Do you want the job?”

Biff knew he could say no if he wanted to. He believed Ames was a fair enough officer not to hold it against him. But Barnes was still mad at the navy, and McConnell in particular. “Yes, sir. It’s in the bag.” He grinned, a fighter-pilot grin.

General Warner’s guidance to Biff and his team was to pitch Defender as an accelerated-acquisition program, which compressed or eliminated many steps of the acquisition process. This strategy would provide the justification to get a high-risk program approved, but would also appeal to the “sense of order” that the SECDEF was comfortable with. Warner was quite certain the CJCS would not make the final decision on Defender all by himself; the SECDEF would have his say, and he was a lawyer by trade. Biff wasn’t completely convinced that approaching the problem as if it were a trial was the right thing to do, but the chief of staff was a bomber pilot and a savvy Pentagon warrior, more accustomed to a by-the-book, deliberate planning approach.

Barnes walked through the executive-level briefing one last time, correcting minor grammatical mistakes and checking on the animation. Color and motion were useful tools in grabbing, and retaining, a senior officer’s attention. The presentation itself was deceptively small when one considered all the effort that had gone into it. The whole thing could be given in less than forty-five minutes — attention span was also an issue — but the supporting documentation would need a wheelbarrow. Biff was staring at the final slide, wondering if he’d missed anything, when General Ames hurried into the room. He’d checked on their progress several times during the night, and Biff started to report when Ames cut him off.

“Turn on the news,” Ames ordered a lieutenant at the far end of the room. The junior officer looked for the remote and grabbed it, then fumbled for the power control.

“… as yet there has been no response to the Chinese demands. The State Department spokesman only repeated earlier demands by the U.S. government that the Chinese stop their attacks.”

The CNN defense reporter, Mark Markin, stood in front of a sign that read U.S. DEPARTMENT OF STATE.

“To repeat, the Chinese have now stated their conditions for stopping the attacks on the NAVSTAR GPS satellite constellation. The U.S. must reduce its forces in the region to below precrisis levels, especially in South Korea and Japan. According to their official statement, this is ‘to remove the immediate threat of U.S. aggression against the People’s Republic of China.’ If the U.S. does so, the Chinese will agree to cease their attacks. The Chinese ambassador also hinted that they might also restart the stalled talks on human rights, intellectual property rights, and other long-standing disputes.”

Ames said, “That’s enough,” and the lieutenant turned it off.

The general looked at Barnes. “The answer’s ‘hell, no,’ of course, but you’ve gotta love the way they’re taking it to the media. And some of the reporters aren’t helping the situation by making us sound completely powerless to do anything.” Ames sounded disgusted.

Biff clicked on the SAVE button, closed the file, and announced, “We’re ready, sir. Let’s clean up and go get us a program.”

Ray had managed to get about three hours of rest, and that only because his eyes simply couldn’t focus on the screen any longer. Suffering badly from jet lag, he fought dozing off with a powerful combination of caffeine, sugar, and adrenaline. The urgent need to whip together their pitch for the chairman kept them all going at a feverish pace. Working like a rented mule, Ray struggled to finish Defender in one night, while the CNO and his staff put together the case to keep her a navy project.

Ray smiled at the irony. He had done the nigh impossible; he’d won. He’d made the case for Defender. By all rights, he should be on cloud nine right now. Not only was Defender going to be built, but the services were fighting over who would run it! Maybe it was fatigue, or the thought that his baby could be taken away from him, but he wasn’t feeling optimistic, let alone happy.

Schultz had gotten no sleep whatsoever, and looked it. But they’d all gained a second wind right after the Chinese ultimatum. Dogged determination could substitute for sleep, for a little while anyway.

The admiral took a slug of lukewarm coffee as he reviewed the staff’s work, scribbling furiously on paper copies of the slides. Schultz was approaching the impending meeting as if it were an airstrike. Identify the “enemy’s” center of gravity and pound the dog poop out of it. In this case, he was targeting the air force’s likely approach to the Defender ownership issue.

Having served nearly two years in the “Five-Sided Funny Farm,” Schultz had a strong hunch that his air force colleagues were going to default to their tried-and-true acquisition practices. And while the NAVAIR commander had great respect for the air force chief of staff, he knew Warner tended to be more bureaucratic than most and would probably follow a more traditional path. They’d go with an accelerated program, to be sure, but it would still look more like a regular acquisition program than Schultz wanted. There were two ways to tackle the air force’s pitch: go longer, or shorter. The admiral chose the latter.

“All right, people. The air force will almost certainly put together a dog and pony show that would make Cecil B. DeMille green with envy. It’ll be a colorful production of epic proportions, loaded with graphics and animation that will use every second of their one hour. We could match them, but that would leave our audience in a PowerPoint-induced stupor. So we’re going with brevity and simplicity.” Schultz pulled up his single guidance slide on the large flat-screen display and, pointing toward it, gave the staff their running orders.

“While Mr. McConnell puts the final touches on the Defender design, the rest of you will build a rapid-development program based on an urgent operational need. We’re going down the UON route because, once approved, it becomes one of DoD’s highest priorities. This means we’ll get the funding and resources necessary to develop, build, and deploy this new capability in a matter of months, not years.

“Since time is our enemy, I want our pitch to be short, clear, and concise. No bells and whistles, just the bare minimum it takes to make our case to the chairman and the SECDEF. Now turn to!”

By 0740, the navy’s brief arguments had been assembled into several one-inch binders, one each for the CNO, the chairman, and the vice chairman. Everyone else would get stapled black-and-white copies of the slides. Ray had timed Schultz’s last dry run — twenty minutes max. That had to be one of the shortest policy-decision briefs he’d ever seen. As the staff started cleaning up from the marathon planning session, Admiral Kramer and Vice Admiral Schultz, now in a fresh set of pressed khakis, walked into the conference room.

“Ready, Ray?” Schultz asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, sir.”

“Very well. Let’s go and clip some air force wings, shall we?”

Both groups arrived at the NMCC’s briefing room at the same time. Quietly, the air force and navy members shuffled through the door and took their seats. Ray found himself seated directly across from Barnes, and he gave the young air force officer a weak smile as a greeting. Ray couldn’t help but notice the bags under Barnes’s eyes, a testimony that he’d been up all night as well. He looks like hell, Ray thought. He then self-consciously rubbed his hand on his face and felt the stubble of a two-day beard. Looking down, Ray saw that his suit was badly wrinkled and concluded he probably looked just as hellish, if not worse.

Barnes initially paid no attention to Ray. His gaze was fixed on the miniscule briefing binders the navy flag officers had brought with them. They were easily one-third the size of the ones he had prepared. Confused, Biff looked up at McConnell, his right hand gesturing toward the remarkably thin binders in front of Schultz with a facial expression that screamed, “Are you serious?!” Ray briefly glanced over at Schultz and immediately understood what Barnes was asking. Looking back, all he could do was offer the air force captain a slight shrug. Biff suppressed the desire to laugh out loud. This will be a piece of cake, he gloated to himself.

An aide broke the murmured conversations with the announcement that the chairman would be in shortly; he had been called to the White House earlier in the morning and had just arrived at the Mall entrance. Barnes looked around the room again with confusion. The projectors were off, and no one was at the computer bringing up the two presentations. He knew the chairman’s staff personnel weren’t idiots. Something wasn’t right.

Before Barnes could even ask a question, General Kastner strode quickly into the briefing room, followed immediately by Secretary of Defense Peck. Both were hurrying, and the chairman reached the podium before everyone had even finished coming to attention.

“My apologies for being tardy, gentlemen. Please be seated.”

The chairman waited until everyone had sat back down, then cleared his throat. “I know that I asked Admiral Kramer and General Warner yesterday to prepare their positions on the Defender issue. The circumstances have changed. Secretary Peck will explain.”

Secretary of Defense Everett Peck was a political appointee, with little experience in the government. The balding, professorial lawyer had served as chief of staff for the president’s election two years ago. He’d stayed out of trouble by leaving the DoD more or less to the chairman to administer while Peck dealt with Congress.

The secretary spoke with a measured tone that had been perfected in the courtroom; “The chairman and I have just come from a meeting with the president. This follows an earlier meeting last night where General Kastner briefed us on the Defender concept.”

Peck paused, and tried to look sympathetic. “I understand the purpose of this meeting was to choose a service to run the Defender program, but that decision has been taken out of the chairman’s hands.”

What? Ray looked at the admirals, who were just as shocked and puzzled as he was. In fact, everyone at the conference table was exchanging stunned glances. Ray caught Barnes’s eyes. The fighter pilot looked deeply disappointed. Ray knew immediately what he was thinking — all that work, for nothing! All Ray could do was wearily nod his agreement as Secretary Peck continued.

“The president has decided to create a new branch of the armed services to manage this new military resource. It will be structured similarly to the Special Operations Command, with assets and personnel assigned to it from the other services on an as-needed basis.”

Peck didn’t even wait for that to sink in but just kept on going. “This service will be known as the United States Space Force and will be headed by Vice Admiral Schultz. As a new service chief, he will be advanced to the rank of full admiral, effective immediately.” Schultz looked completely thunderstruck; Ray thought he’d suddenly turned a little pale.

The secretary looked at Admiral Schultz, who was still trying to recover from the surprise announcement. “Your title will be ‘chief, U.S. Space Force.’ Your new rank is contingent on approval by the United States Senate. Do you accept?”

Just like that. No warning, no fanfare, just a point-blank question, on behalf of the president of the United States, no less. Schultz quickly regained his composure, swallowing hard. Ray heard the admiral mutter, “Ho boy.” Standing, Schultz replied simply, “I accept, sir.”

“Good. Admiral, notify your deputy at NAVAIR to take over your duties immediately. You will no longer report to the CNO, but to the chairman, on administrative matters. You will report to me regarding operational matters. You can establish your headquarters wherever you wish, but I assume you will want to be co-located with the construction effort, wherever that is based.”

Kramer, suddenly Schultz’s former boss, was still in a state of shock, as were most of the officers in the room. Kastner had a big smile on his face and didn’t seem like someone who’d had a “decision taken out of his hands.”

“I won’t congratulate you, Admiral,” Peck went on. “You’ll probably come to regret this assignment, but I’m also sure you’ll give it your best effort. And we are in desperate need of that. You have presidential authority to call on any resources of the Department of Defense — indeed, the U.S. government — to get Defender built and flying. Your orders are simple: Stop the Chinese from destroying our satellites.”

Peck glanced at his notes again. “Now for the bad news. Most of you know that the two spare satellites in orbit are also nonfunctional and presumed destroyed. That means we’ve lost a total of seven GPS satellites.”

Ray’s heart sank. He’d heard the rumors but had hoped they weren’t true.

“I can also tell you that while we have several satellites waiting to be put in orbit, and contracts have been let for replacement satellites, the president is reluctant to launch any until the threat is contained.”

Reasonable, Ray thought. No sense giving the Chinese another half-a-billion-dollar target to shoot down. And even with the order placed, it’ll take a long time for those replacements to be built.

Peck continued. “Unfortunately, we probably won’t have a choice. The Chinese appear to be able to launch one attack vehicle a week. Given the number of satellites remaining in the constellation, at that rate we’ll lose our ability to conduct precision strikes during the nighttime hours in about six weeks, or forty-two days.”

Warner’s face was grim; he knew exactly where this was going. “Which means any strike we send in will be on a suicide mission, as they’ll have to go in during the day. This doesn’t completely negate stealth, but it severely reduces our chances of success and increases our potential losses should we have to strike Chinese targets.”

“They’re attacking our way of war, General,” observed Schultz. “As long as we don’t get involved in the Vietnam crisis, we won’t lose a single soul. And the slick part of all this is that the losses are largely transparent to the average Joe on the street. The majority of our citizens don’t need 3D accuracy for their day-to-day living, and those that do are just shifting over to the new Galileo system. The Chinese are being very clever. They’re pushing us into a corner that will be very difficult to get out of politically.”

“Correct, Admiral,” answered Peck. “We can delay this situation by launching the four satellites we have on hand, but that only buys us a few weeks. In seventy days, our ability to stop the Chinese will be severely crippled. That is how much time we have to build Defender.”

Ray whistled softly. Just over two months to build and deploy an entirely new system, to fight in a new environment — space. Even with proven components and technology, that was an absurdly aggressive timeline.

Suddenly, three hours of sleep seemed like a lot.

Ben Davis rushed up to meet Rutledge as soon as he burst through the door. The congressman was in a bad mood. The urgent message from his chief of staff had pulled him from his church services, and he would probably have to cancel his golf outing with the House minority leader — nothing could get Rutledge into a tizzy faster than screwing around with his Sunday routine.

“Let’s have it,” the congressman demanded sourly.

“Here you go, Tom.” Davis handed Rutledge an abbreviated transcript of the Chinese announcement. “They’re damn gutsy, that’s for sure. It’s basically an ultimatum, either we…”

Rutledge raised his left hand sharply, demanding silence while he read. It took him only a moment to finish the short piece; he then snapped the paper back to Davis. “What has the White House said in response?”

Davis shook his head woefully. “Very little. A State Department spokesman merely reiterated the administration’s demand that the Chinese cease their attacks.”

An arrogant snicker burst out from the congressman. “Like that will do anything. Has there been any announcement of a press conference?”

“No, sir.”

“What is the president thinking?” asked Rutledge incredulously. “Does he truly believe he can just ignore a threat like this and hope the problem will simply go away?”

“Tom, this problem will eventually ‘go away’ on its own. When we no longer have the ability to deter the Chinese from invading Vietnam. Not without the prospect of taking unacceptable casualties, that is. They’re taking the night away from us, plain and simple.”

Rutledge started pacing, chewing on a nail as he considered his next move. The complete lack of leadership by President Jackson throughout the current crisis was obvious to the most casual observer. Someone needed to step up to the plate and get the country energized. He could think of no one better than himself.

“All right, call Bill Hamilton in and get started on a press release. It needs to be strongly worded, with some language on what the administration needs to do to respond properly to the Chinese. And where are those statewide poll numbers I asked for over a week ago?”

“We got them in late Friday; the report is in your in-box. But the results are essentially consistent with those taken from your own district. The majority of the people in Nebraska don’t see an invasion of Vietnam, or the taking out of our GPS satellites, as justification for war.”

“I’m not advocating war, Ben!” Rutledge snapped back. “Lord knows we don’t need to become involved in another major conflict. What I’m looking for is some tough words on things we should be doing. Don’t provide any details — leave it vague — but get me a couple of plausible options that we can throw out. If the president won’t get off the dime and do something, then we should capitalize on this opportunity.”

Davis suddenly became hesitant, a look of concern flashing on his face. Rutledge saw it immediately and asked, “What’s wrong, Ben?”

“Tom, Rep. Urick stopped by on Friday. He had a message for you to tone down the rhetoric. Your last missives were viewed as being ‘counterproductive’ to the president’s agenda.”

Representative Russell Urick was the Democratic Party’s whip, and he was often used to deliver unpleasant messages from the party’s leadership to the rank and file. Clearly, the House minority leader had issues with Rutledge’s last press release.

“Really?” Rutledge asked with feigned surprise. “Well, we certainly can’t ignore a visit by the party’s whip. I guess I’ll keep my golf date with Thad Preston after all. Perhaps he can enlighten me as to his concerns. But get Bill in here nonetheless, and get started on that press piece. Tell him to throttle back a little, but I want something in the hopper for this evening.”

Jenny Oh always enjoyed an early-morning run on one of San Diego’s many sunny beaches. With the sun just popping up from behind the hills, she had the luxury of having it all to herself — there wasn’t another soul in sight. And that was just fine with her. No need to worry about the traffic, parking, or crowds. There was a slight breeze coming off the ocean, and the only sounds were that of the surf and seagulls. As far as Jenny was concerned, this was the closest thing to heaven on earth.

She was on the back half of a five-mile run when her phone started vibrating. Irritated, she glanced at the display to see who dared to interrupt her much-needed solitude. But when she saw that it was a text message from Ray, she came to a quick stop and touched a button. The message that popped up on the screen was at best vague.